All Washed Up
by MewMewKitty78
Summary: Gwen's life could not be any more perfect than it was right now. She had a loving boyfriend, an amazing career, and kick ass friends. Nothing could ruin it. Except for blow and getting dropped from her label; THAT was an exception. Darkfic Rated M for drug use, sexual situations and strong language.
1. Chapter 1

**Me: My first M rated story. This is an idea I've had for years, but I've never had the time or patience to write. I know I shouldn't be posting anymore multi-chapter stories considering I've got about two I (desperately) need to update, but if I don't write this now I'm going to go insane. Do you know how hard it is to take a final exam when you're completely freaking crazy? This chapter's pretty long.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gwen or any other Total Drama characters.**

**WARNING: There are going to be some serious adult themes in this story! DRUG USE, STRONG LANGUAGE, and SEXUAL SITUATIONS are just a few of them, but if you have a problem with any of these things, I strongly suggest you click the back button. This story's Rated M for a reason, people!**

* * *

The audience went completely insane as Gwen plucked the final notes of her new song on her acoustic guitar. She could feel her heart pound faster as she listened to her loyal fans cry her name, clap their hands and shriek with pleasure as she serenaded them. She'd done this a million times before, but it never seemed to get old. They loved her voice, the way she could make something as simple as the alphabet sound beautiful. They loved her music, the way it was different from all the new shit, how you could listen to it and not want to rip your ears off. But more importantly, they loved her; every gothic, anorexic, eight-nine pounds of her. What more could she ask for?

The young starlet handed her guitar to the stage-crew member who had rushed up to her and asked her if she needed anything. She simply shook her head at him and smiled at the young boy. When he left, she turned her attention back to her fans.

"_We love you Gwen!"_ She heard one of them scream. Gwen gave her biggest smile, put her hands in the air and belted out into the microphone:

"_And I love _you,_ darling!"_

"That was am_azing_, Gwen! See, I _told_ you doing New York City was a good idea!"

"Ha. Yeah ya did, didn't you, Chris?" Gwen gave her manager a half smile. He had indeed said that preforming in her hometown would not only get her major props, but the ticket sales would have them "rolling in dough!" And as usual, he was right on both parts. People went mad when they heard Gwen would not only be preforming there, but would also be holding an autograph session the day after.

"What a great way to spend your birthday, huh?" Chris asked, flopping down on the expensive couch. "Singing in front of your fans, making people's minds explode, making me millions."

"It's a lot different from how I _used_ to spend my birthdays." The goth girl admitted. "It'd be better if I, ya know, had a cake?" She looked over to her manager, and the look on his face made her day.

"Aw shit! I told that dumb ass to be here before the show was over!" Chris leaped up out of his seat and grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and put it to his ear.

"Hello? Trent! Where the hell are you? I don't care if there's traffic! Your girlfriend's sitting over here wondering why I didn't get her a fucking cake!"

Gwen gave a true smile as she listened to her ever stubborn boyfriend and her even more stubborn manager playful banter. It reminded her of when she and her younger brother Dylan would argue. And thinking of her and her younger brother arguing, made her miss her him and her mother, and all the things she left behind, even that godforsaken apartment of theirs.

'_It's hard to believe that nine years ago, on this exact day, I was struggling to get by in this very city. Now I'm living large and I don't have to worry about a thing…'_ She thought. Her life had been terrible before she found Chris McLean that one unforgettable day. It had started out so horrible, and ended up being the highlight of her life. The day when everything changed, and the day she became a star.

* * *

_Flashback_

_October 19__th__, 2003_

_Burger World, 9: 54 P.M_

"_C'mon Gwen, let's go already!" Seventeen year old Sierra Johnson hollered over her shoulder. The petite Burger World drive-thru worker was Gwen's only form of transportation, her best and admittedly only friend here in this damned city. The goth girl plunged her mop back into the bucket full of soapy water. Why did _she_ get stuck with both cleaning duty and her regular shift at the cash register today of all days? It _was_ her birthday, for God sake. Not that her boss gave a shit about that. Gwen sighed and looked over at Sierra._

"_Sorry Si, I'm going to take a while. Why don't you just go? I'll walk home tonight." She offered. Her friend scoffed and threw her long braid over her shoulder. Like Gwen, Sierra hated her original hair color (which was black) and had dyed it pink. Gwen's once brunette hair was now black and teal. The difference was, Sierra's colored hair made her popular, while Gwen's hair made her stick out like the weirdo she was._

"_You want me to let you walk home by yourself? At night? In New York? Your fucking crazy, ya know that?" Sierra grabbed a chair and thumped down in it backwards, resting her head on the back of it. "Go on, mop your damn floors. I don't see why you can't just pretend to do it like me and Tyler do."_

"_Tyler and I," "Grammar-Nazi Gwen" (Sierra's own personal nickname for her) corrected, mopping away whatever sticky substances were on the ground. "And I prefer to do things by the book. I know it might not seem like it, but I actually, ya know, _don't_ want to get fired. Unlike you and your boyfriend." Gwen grinned when Sierra's face reddened. She knew about her friend's little crush on the jock and teased her about it as much as she could. Sierra stood up and crossed her arms._

"_Maybe letting you walk home isn't such a bad idea after all." She joked, causing Gwen to roll her eyes. Sierra's cell phone rang then, and the goth busied herself with cleaning. She wasn't much of an eavesdropper, but when her best friend's voice went up an octave, she listened in._

"_She's in the hospital? Why?...Broke her what? How? Ohmygod, I'll be there as soon as I can!" Sierra's face had paled as she spoke on the phone. She looked over at Gwen. "Gwen, I'm so sorry, but I have to go! My mom she's…she's in the hospital! There's been a car accident and…I don't really know what happened, but it's really serious and I have to…"_

"_Go Sierra." Gwen said calmly, dropping her mop and placing her hands on her friend's shoulders. "I'll be alright here, just promise me you'll call and tell me what's going on, alright?" Sierra nodded and rushed out the door. Gwen watched as she frantically got in her small Volvo and turned the ignition on, speeding out of the parking lot and onto the road. She sighed._

'Overtime at Burger World and my best friend's mother in the hospital. What a birthday…' _Gwen thought as she continued her work. She never would've took this damn job in the first place if her mother hadn't of gotten fired from the office…_

'It wasn't her fault! That guy purposely spilled coffee on her keyboard! I swear if I ever find him I'm gonna…! No, no. I can't get mad. Remember what the guidance counselor said. "Do something that makes you happy."' _This was easier said than done. There were only a few things in Gwen's life that made her happy. Hanging out with Sierra was one of them, but she obviously couldn't do that now. Drawing was another, but she had left her notebook at school in her haste to get to work. The only other option she had was singing, but she hated doing that in public. But why the hell not? She was alone, and she had nothing to lose. If anyone walked in on her belting out tunes, they'd just laugh and tell her she would never amount to anything._

'Just like Daddy Dearest said…'_ Thinking of her father only increased her anger, so she shut down her mind and closed her eyes. Using the foul-smelling mop as a microphone and the radio as her band, she pictured herself on stage, dancing around in front of millions of people. She took a deep breath and sung as loud as her voice would allow her too._

"_She's got eyes of the bluest skies_

_As if they thought of rain_

_I hate to look into those eyes_

_And see an ounce of pain_

_Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place_

_Where as a child I'd hide_

_And pray for the thunder_

_And the rain_

_To quietly pass me by…"_

_She quickly wiped the tears away from her eyes. It had not been the first time she'd cried while singing along with Axl Rose. She was a fan of many classic rock bands, but Guns N' Roses seemed to understand her pain the most. Plus, Slash was yummy._

"_Oh, oh, oh_

_Sweet child o' mine_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh_

_Sweet love of mine_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh_

_Sweet child o' mine_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh_

_Sweet love of mine!"_

_Gwen's heart leaped in her chest when she heard someone clap. She spun around, almost slipping on the still wet floor. Standing in the doorway, was a young thirty-something year old man. His hair however, made him look middle-aged, as there were grey streaks everywhere. He gave the shocked teen an award winning smile._

"_That was very good, young lady." He said sincerely. Gwen blinked and shook her head._

"_N-not really…" She whispered. "I'm…I'm not that good."_

_"Maybe not, but with some vocal training you could be someone!" The man looked around and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "What's a talented girl like you doing in a place like this? You're way too pretty to be working here." At first Gwen thought he was coming onto her, but when she saw him fondly gazing the wedding ring that he wore she knew she was wrong._

"_I…I'm working here for the time being. I…need the money." He wouldn't understand. That Rolex he was wearing told her that. But instead of sneering at her and laughing, like most people would've, he simply nodded and looked her the eye with a smile._

_"Well, I guess it's better than working the pole, isn't it?" He chuckled, and the sound was so comforting that Gwen relaxed a bit and let out a small laugh. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Chris, Chris Mclean. Who are you, if you don't mind me asking?" He held out his hand. Gwen cautiously shook it. Her mother always warned her about strange men before she left for school and she had never heeded these warnings until now. But this guy seemed…okay. A little weird, but if he was going to do something, he would've done it by now._

"_I'm Gwen…" No matter how okay he was, there was no way Gwen was giving out her last name. She wasn't stupid…Despite the fact that she was walking home at night._

"_Short for Gwendolyn or something?"_

"…_Yeah. But I hate that name, so I go by Gwen."_

"_Well Gwen," Chris smiled again. "You've got quite a talent! I know your probably think I'm some creepy pedophile or something, but last time I checked, I only like girls who are legal." Gwen really laughed that time. Chris smile widened at this. "Look kiddo, from what I've gathered you're having money problems, and social problems, if your wardrobe tells me anything. I want to help you. Now I'm not offering money, because I can look at you and tell you're not some charity case, but hear me out. I'm a manager for this major industry. You ever heard of Blaineley?" Gwen's eyes widened._

"_Yeah, of course! She's the biggest pop sensation that's ever grown up in New York City!" Sure, Gwen wasn't down with every new musical sensation that came out, and she was a strict rock'n'roll girl, but even she had to admit that Blaineley was a great singer. Chris smiled and showed Gwen his ring._

"_Well not only am I her manager, but I'm her husband." He told her. "She's amazing, her voice, her talent, her dedication to her work." He gushed. "You could be the next Blaineley. Or the next Axl Rose. So ya in?"_

"_Hell yeah!"_

"_Great! First things first, you're gonna have to get the parental's to sign this here contract." He told her. "Then we're gonna head over to my studio in Cali and whip you into shape!"_

"_Wait a minute, if you studio's all the way in California, why are you here?"_

"_Some guys wanted Blaineley to preform here for something or another. I stopped listening when they told me they wouldn't be paying me."_

_"What if it was for charity?"_

"_It wasn't. And even if they had said it was, I wouldn't have believed them. They were shady, and I don't do business with shady rich guys anyways. Now I gotta go, wife's waiting for me at home. Here's my card and the contract, call me when everything signed and sorted. See ya, kiddo."_

_"Bye, Chris…" Gwen started down at the card. It had every ounce of information she needed to search Chris and make sure he was legit. She couldn't believe her luck…How was this even possible? Was this the world's way of cutting her a break, or was something bad going to happen next? Gwen smiled._

"_I don't know and I don't care. I just got a pretty good reason to stay home from school!"_

* * *

Gwen smiled at her manager. She still couldn't believe that one man could make her this famous. She owed him her life and so much more.

Chris noticed her staring and raised an eyebrow.

"What? Kiddo did you…ya know, snort something before you went on stage? You're acting kind of wonky." Gwen burst out laughing and shook her head. "Alright, but you're taking a drug test when we get back to the house, 'kay?"

"Will you hurry up, you ignorant ass? I mean honestly, it doesn't take _that_ long just to bring a cake up the stairs!" A piercing female voice hissed. Chris moaned and rolled his eyes, Gwen gleefully leaped from her seat.

"There's only one person I know who's that bitchy!" She squealed. Not a moment later, in walked her best friend, clad in her favorite sandals, skin-tight shorts and red halter top, waist long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and expensive Loui Vaton sun-glasses resting carefully in her pocket. Her cold, grey eyes scanned the room for the person she wanted to see. Warmth overcame them when they met Gwen's black-colored contacts. The extremely thrilled singer threw her arms out and ran towards the older girl.

"Heather!" Gwen squealed, clutching the back of her friend's shirt tightly. Heather automatically winced, still not used to this type of affection. But she gradually put her arms around Gwen and hugged back. She _had_ missed her, and even the cruel ballet dancer had to admit life was just a _bit_ too lonesome without her friend by her side.

"Hey there, weird goth girl," Heather cooed affectionately. "Were you miserable without me?"

"You already know the answer to that one, Queen Bee."

"Good. You've got no right to be happy while I'm depressed." Gwen pulled away from Heather and smiled at her again.

"So who were you yelling at out there?" She asked curiously.

"Ya know, Heater, you could've given me a hand. Carrying a cake isn't going to break one of your nails."

"Trent!"

"Oh shut it, Trent." The two best friends exclaimed at the same time as said musician came into the room carrying Gwen's three tier cake. He smiled at said girl.

"Miss me, beautiful?"

* * *

**Do you hate me yet? If you do, don't feel bad. I know what you're thinking: "Heather as Gwen's best friend? Chris as her manager? Are you out of your mind?" The answer to said question, is no, I'm not. I've done this for a reason, but you're going to have to read to find out. I sure as hell hope this is good enough to keep reading, though. I've been having my doubts about it…:\**

**Enough with my insecurities! If you liked it, review, favorite all that. If you hated it, **_**politely**_** tell me why and instruct me on how to make it better. And for those of you who don't know, the song Gwen was singing in the flashback was the original Guns N' Roses' "Sweet Child O' Mine".**


	2. Chocolate Cake and Wedding Dresses

**Me: The first chapter of this story did better than I thought it would. I got four very positive, very encouraging reviews, and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. You're going to learn a tiny bit about Gwen and Trent's relationship (which is **_**not**_** going to be like Romeo and Juliet), and about Heather and Gwen's friendship. Also Chris Mclean, by the way, is still the same sadistic asshole we all love to hate. He's just a bit more pleasant to the people he cares about. Please review and, if you like, favorite me and the story.**

**Oh, there's also some semi-arousing crap in her, ya know, people reaching first, close to second base. I'm not gonna be one of those people who stress out over every little romantic detail, but I just wanted you to know there's going to be some major making outage in this chappie. **

**;3 You've been warned.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gwen or any other Total Drama characters.**

**WARNING: There are going to be some serious adult themes in this story! DRUG USE, STRONG LANGUAGE, and SEXUAL SITUATIONS are just a few of them, but if you have a problem with any of these things, I strongly suggest you click the back button. This story's Rated M for a reason, people!**

* * *

"Miss me, beautiful?" Trent asked a loving smile on his face as he admired his famous girlfriend. He put down Gwen's vanilla frosted chocolate birthday cake and opened his arms wide. The goth girl enthusiastically ran into his arms and nuzzled her face into his chest.

"Like crazy," She answered inhaling deeply. Trent smelt of Axe body spray and cigarettes. While Gwen normally hated the stink of cigarettes, on her boyfriend it somehow smelt good. Then again, she found a way to make everything bad about Trent wonderful. The way he chews with his mouth open, ("It's cute after a while." Gwen explained to Heather, who just rolled her eyes.) the way he snores and takes up the whole bed, the way he forgets to put the seat down…

Okay, so maybe she couldn't find a way to justify _everything_, but she could try. Besides, there were many grand things about Trent that Gwen just _adored._ How he always got her a birthday card. He opens the door for her, pulls out her chair, gives her his jacket when she's cold, all the cliché stuff like that.

One of Gwen's favorite things about Trent was his amazing ability to kiss. It took her breath away when he-

Gwen gasped as Trent pressed his lips against hers, hard and heavy. Speaking of becoming breathless, Gwen lost all ability to think, move and do anything except for return the passionate spit-swap she'd become accustomed to. Trent snuck his tongue into her mouth, running the muscle across hers. His hands moved from her shoulders, down her back, and onto her bony hips, squeezing them lovingly. Gwen gripped onto his shirt and turned her head so she'd get more access to his mouth. She bit his lip, just how he liked it and he groaned into her mouth. His hands dipped down to her backside and squeezed gently. Gwen giggled and the couple completely forgot that they had company.

"Alright, that's enough." Heather hissed in disgust. It was no secret to Gwen that Heather despised Trent, and despised her relationship with him even more. The young singer could never understand her best friend's hatred toward her lover, and it broke her heart that Heather never made any effort to fix the not-friendship. But the ballet dancer never made any attempt to sabotage her relationship with Trent, so Gwen wasn't really going to say anything to her.

Trent glared at the Queen Bee and flipped her the bird, which she happily returned. Gwen rolled her eyes and pushed her boyfriend away. She walked over to the table her cake rested on and swiped some frosting off of the corner, putting her finger in her mouth and sucking on it delicately. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head in ecstasy as the sugary goodness shocked her taste buds.

"Ohmygod! Who made this cake? It's delicious!" She cried out gleefully. Chris, who had been awkwardly silent, smiled and stepped forward.

"I can answer this one! My personal chef used to be a professional cake maker, but he got fired after a disastrous event. He swore to never make another cake again but I bribed him to-I mean _"raised his pay"_ so he'd make the most fabulous cake in the world!" The manager bragged, causing Trent to roll his eyes and Heather to huff "yeah right" under her breath. Chris' expression darkened and he glared at the doubtful duo.

"I also threatened to make his balls into a necklace and I'll _happily _do it to either of you douche faces if you question my greatness ever again. Got that?" Heather and Trent nodded, both to terrified to point out that Heather did not have testicles. There was a twelve second awkward silence before Trent cleared his throat.

"I uh…I think it's time to sing to the birthday girl." He announced, smiling at his long-time girlfriend. The starlet simply sighed and rolled her eyes. The only thing Gwen hated about her birthdays, before and after fame, was the singing. Each year somebody (weather it was her brother, Chris or her boyfriend) thought it'd be funny to play a recording of her singing Happy Birthday to herself when she was only six years old. Many of the words were mispronounced, and she couldn't hold a key at all back then, but at the same time her voice still sounded semi-good. Either way, Gwen hated it and everyone KNEW she hated it. But that didn't stop them for doing it anyway.

"Can we _please_ skip the singing this year? I mean it's rather pointless at this point." She pleaded. Heather smirked at her and said,

"And what, miss out on the look of misery on your face? Fat chance Gwendolyn." The goth's face fell, and Heater felt her eye twitch.

'_Damn it Gwen! I was kidding, and you know it! I'm going way to fuckin' soft today…"_

"Alright, alright, we don't have to do the damned singing. But I swear on my life Gwen, if you don't go shopping with me immediately after this mediocre party I'm going to fucking kill you!"

"Thanks Heather." Gwen said with a smile. The Queen Bee waved her away.

"Whatever. You'd better get Chris' credit card because we're going to spend up a storm afterwards." Said manager groaned after hearing this.

"When I said you could borrow my card whenever you wanted Gwen," He lectured as he handed her his beloved golden card. "I didn't mean every single day."

"I promise I'll get it back to you before the day is over!" Gwen told him. Chris just shook his head.

"Keep it. Blaineley's got millions of 'em. Think of it as a birthday gift from me." Gwen gasped.  
"Really, Chris? Thanks! I owe ya one!" She threw her arms around him in a quick, one sided hug and pocketed the card. She'd be sure to pay him back later on.

"I remember a time when we ate the cake first and _then_ we opened presents." Trent chuckled, handing Gwen a small rectangular box. "But I think I like this tradition better." Gwen opened the gift slowly, and uncharacteristically squeed when she saw the diamond earrings inside.

"Oh Trent thank you!" She breathed, close to tears. "These must've cost a fortune!"

"They did, but nothing's too good for my girl." The older musician cooed and wrapped his arms around Gwen from behind. She nuzzled her head into his neck appreciably and kissed his lips.

"Thank you so much." Kiss. "I love you," Kiss. "more than anything in the world."

"Do you two do _anything _other than suck face?" Heather asked rhetorically. Trent smirked at her.

"Yeah," He answered, looking suggestively at Gwen. "But if you don't like seeing us kiss, then you'd _hate_ seeing us do _that_."

"Ugh, you disgusting pig! I cannot _believe_ my best friend is in love with you!" She screamed. Chris sighed and leaned next to Gwen.

"I told you this would happen if we invited her."  
"Shut up, Chris!" Both Gwen and Heather hissed. The manager shrugged, unaffected by the sudden hostility.

"I'm just saying, if we had sent her a badger in the mail instead of an invitation like I had said, this wouldn't be happening." Gwen slapped him on the back of his head.

"Sadistic bastard." She growled at him and walked over to the fuming Heather. She put a hand on her arm.  
"Hey, Queen Bee. Why don't we grab a piece of cake and head off to the mall?" She asked her, soothingly rubbing her friend's skinny arm.

"That cake is like, a thousand calories." Heather huffed, but cut herself a small piece anyway. She stuffed the whole thing in her mouth, and shivered as she tasted the sugary sweetness. Gwen couldn't help smiling when she saw her die-hard-dieter friend get two more pieces.

"Wet's go! I don't whanna hit twaffic!" Queen Bee called out, mouth completely full. She pulled her keys out her pocket and left for the parking lot. Before Gwen could leave with her, Trent pulled her into a hug.

"See ya later, baby." He whispered into her ear. "Maybe later we can properly celebrate your twenty-first b-day, if ya know what I mean." Gwen giggled and pushed him away.

"Whatever you say Mr. Subtlety." The goth starlet stole the plate of cake Chris had in his hand, hugged him tightly and ran off to catch up with her friend.

"What is it with women and shopping?" Trent chuckled, sitting down on the couch and checking the messages on his cell phone. One from Cody, one from his mom and one from-

"Who the hell is "Hot Throat"?" Chris exclaimed, peaking over Trent's shoulder. The musician let out an unmanly scream and shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glared at the manager, who glared back.

"What are you doing reading over my shoulder?" Trent hollered.

"What are _you_ doing talking to girls named Hot Throat while dating _my_ little gi-my client?" Chris hollered back. There was an awkward silence that a now terrified Trent broke.

"Please don't tell Heather!" Chris laughed at him.

"I find it amusing how you don't want me to tell Heather, but say _nothing_ about me telling Gwen."

"Heather would kill me if she found out about this!"

"And Gwen wouldn't?"

"Well…I mean she'd hated me, but Heather would _actually kill me and you know it!_"

"So you admit that you've been cheating on Gwen?"

"Ugh, _no,_ I'm not cheating on her! But I don't want anybody finding out that I have…this person's number on my phone, okay?" Chris glared at him, but eventually sighed and shook his head.

"I am going to regret this; I just know I am…"

* * *

"Hey Gwen, come over here! Look at this one!" Heather called out, holding the white satin dress up against herself as she grinned at her reflection in the mirror.

For the past two hours, Gwen and Heather had been all over the mall, going in and out of each and every store and buying almost everything. They had recently walked into a bridal shop, and Heather fell in love.

"Isn't this just fabulous?" She asked her best friend. Gwen shrugged.  
"It looks to ordinary on you. Why don't you get the one with sequins over in the corner?" The goth suggested, pointing to said dress. Heather narrowed her eyes and crinkled her nose at her friend's poor choice in dresses. She threw the item she was currently holding to the side and went back over to the rack.

"Don't you want anything?" The dancer asked, not taking her eyes off of the expensive pieces of clothing in front of her. Gwen groaned and plopped down on the chair that sat in front of the dressing rooms.

"No! I just want to go home and take a nap, maybe have some Chinese food…" She answered, causing her friend to huff. "What's wrong now?"

"Do you know how many calories Chinese food has?" Heather growled as she walked past Gwen and into a dressing room, purposely kicking her BFF's black boot on her way. Gwen snickered.

"I doubt _I_ have to worry about getting fat!" She joked, gesturing to her extremely small waistline. Heather glared at her and in all seriousness said,

"That's _not_ funny, Gwendolyn." She slammed the dressing room door shut and didn't speak for about five minutes. Gwen mentally kicked herself in the ass.

'_Gwen, you fucking idiot! You know better than to joke about your anorexia in front of Heather. She _hates_ it when you do that!'_ She thought to herself, face palming. Her best friend wasn't an uptight person, but there were certain things that were off limits, even with her. For one thing, Heather did _not_ joke about Gwen's "health issue" (as she so _graciously_ called it) because it wasn't appropriate. Heather also didn't like talking about her family, and in return she didn't make Gwen spill every detail about her family either. The last and most important thing was relationships. Heather and Gwen weren't like most best friends who gossiped about _everything_ they've done with their significant other. They didn't talk about the last date they went on, they didn't talk about how "in love" they were, and the only time they talked about their sex life was when they were joking or making fun of each other.

Gwen never understood why Heather didn't talk about relationships, when she seemed to be the motherfucking Love Guru. She knew when to ask somebody out, the right moment to kiss somebody, how to get the relationship to the next level without making the first move and, if necessary, the right way to break up with somebody in front of their family in a public area.

'_Only Heather would need to know how to do that last one…'_ Gwen occasionally thought. _'Then again, I don't think she's ever had a real boyfriend in the seven and a half years we've been friends. Poor girl, maybe _that's_ why she doesn't want to talk about guys.'_

"I'm going to buy this for you." Gwen nearly jumped out of her skin when Heater's voice broke through her thoughts. She received a strange glance from said female, but was more concerned about what she said than the odd look she was receiving.

"Wait, what? Why?" Gwen questioned, admiring the silver laced silk dress that tightly clenched Heather's C-cup chest and her semi-large butt. She was not only twice Gwen's size, but her curves were something Gwen was not blessed with. The dress would hang on her like a shower curtain.

"Because I think it'd look nice on you, and what I think goes. Besides, I forgot to get you a birthday present so this is gonna make up for it." Gwen shook her head and stood up, placing her hands on Heather's shoulders.

"No, no, please don't waste your money on me!" She cried. Heather looked at her like she was crazy.  
"Waste my money? After almost eight goddamned years of friendship, dealing with your damned health issue, and being there when that _asshole_ Trent broke your heart a thousand times over, you think me buying you _one_ $7,000 dress is wasting my money?" She asked, rolling her eyes. "You're a fucking psychopath."

"But shouldn't _you_ be the one buying a dress? I mean, you're more likely to get married than I am!" Gwen told her and blushed when she saw her friend unzip the back of her dress. "At least go in the dressing room…" Heather grabbed her wrist and tugged her into the room with her.

"You really think I've got a better chance at getting hitched than you do? Ha! Trent may be a complete failure at life, but at least your relationship is stable! I haven't had a real boyfriend since the eighth grade." The Queen Bee stated. "And even if I did get married, there's no way in hell I'd wear something from this store. Everything here makes my hips look way too big."  
"That's because your hips _are_ way too big!" Gwen joked. "In fact, everything on you is way too big. You need to give me some of cleavage. Maybe then I'll get into the clubs for free." Heather rolled her eyes, but smiled anyways.

"There is no amount of cleavage in the world that could get such a goody-goody like _you_ in the clubs, Gwen." She laughed. She pried off the dress and shoved it into the goth's hands. "Here, hold you present while I get back into my pants. Speaking of getting into my pants, have you seen that new model that works with Justin? He's gorgeous!"  
"Isn't his name, Fernando or something?" Gwen asked.

"_Alejandro_ is his name, you shithead. Hopefully he's not gay like Justin is. Did you hear he got fucked in the butt by Owen last week?"  
"Eww, Heather! I don't whanna hear that!"

"And the week before that, he and _DJ_ were going at it?"

"STOP IT!"

* * *

**And that my friend, is the second chapter of All Washed Up. Did you learn anything? If not…that's my fault because this chapter wasn't nearly as descriptive as I wanted it to be. In the next chapter, I'm going to clear up everybody's occupation, you're going to learn about Chris' family life, and see some more GwenXTrent smuttiness.**

**P.S. I feel bad when I read a story and see that the author of it took a long ass time to update, but over that time they were actually working on the story piece by piece. I wrote this all in two days. I feel like I'm not dedicating enough of my time to it, so I'm gonna start getting into this goddamned story! Until next time, PEACE!**


	3. A Look Inside Chris Mclean's Life

**Me: Happy 4****th**** of July! Does anybody else feel like going to sleep? Because I sure as hell do. Well, here we are again, the 3****rd**** chapter of "All Washed Up." This chapter, as I said before, is about Chris and his family life. If you don't remember, he's married to former pop sensation Blaineley, and she makes her debut appearance in this chappie. She and Chris also have two kids that are **_**not**_** OC's because I despise putting them in my stories and will only do it when it's relevant to the plot. I also told you everyone's occupation would be cleared up, and because I don't really know how to fit that in with Chris' POV, I'm just gonna tell you now.**

**Gwen-Singer\songwriter**

**Heather-Ballet dancer**

**Trent-Boy band singer**

**Chris-Manager**

**Blaineley-Used to be a singer and a dancer, now a fashion designer**

**Bridgette-College student\surfer**

**Lindsay-Model In the Making**

**When I introduce more characters it'll be very clear what they do. Anyways, hope you enjoy your Fourth of July and this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gwen or any other Total Drama characters.**

**WARNING: There are going to be some serious adult themes in this story! DRUG USE, STRONG LANGUAGE, and SEXUAL SITUATIONS are just a few of them, but if you have a problem with any of these things, I strongly suggest you click the back button. This story's Rated M for a reason, people!**

**EDIT: I've made some minor edits to this Chapter. Nothing serious. I was reading and realized that Blaineley's flashback and Bridgette and Lindsay's ages didn't add up. Bridgette is twenty-three, not nineteen. Lindsay is a year younger than her sister. That's all.**

* * *

Chris Mclean sighed as he sat in the back of his white stretched limo, heading home from a well-deserved rest.

'_What am I going to do with that douchebag?'_ He thought, remembering the promise he made to Trent almost half an hour ago. Was he really going to keep a secret from Gwen? Normally he wouldn't, but her and Trent's three year anniversary was coming up, and he really didn't need, nor want, Gwen becoming depressed after he told her Trent _might_ be cheating on her, and with a prostitute none the less. Not only would Gwen not be able to perform, (therefore not able to make him money) but when she got upset she stopped eating, and considering she only weighed eighty-nine pounds, Chris wasn't going to risk anything. So yes, he _was_ going to keep this a secret. This brought up an even better question.

_Could_ he keep a secret from Gwen? The answer to that was also yes. Her best friend on the other hand was a completely different story. Heather was known for being able to either seduce or scare information out of people. Chris didn't want her doing either to him, but he also didn't want Gwen finding out about Trent's possible affair. There was no way in hell Heather would keep something like this from the young singer, and if she did she'd just blackmail Chris with it. Being blackmailed by Heather was a fate worse than death itself.

Completely stressed out and just plain frustrated Chris whipped out his cell phone. He punched in the seven digit number he'd remembered by heart years ago and pressed the electronic device against his ear. He then waited patiently for the only person who made sense in this world to pick up.

"_Hello?"_ Blaineley answered on the 3rd ring, like she always did.

"I thought you said you were going to get Caller I.D on that prehistoric phone of yours." He joked, already in a better mood. There was some sort of static on the line before Blaineley spoke again.

"_Hey Chris, how's my baby doin' t'day?"_ His wife asked in her New York accent.

"Better now that I'm talking to you." Chris gushed. "I'm so stressed out, Blain. You wouldn't believe half of the shit that's happened to me today…"

"_I'm sure I would, considering you've said the same thing, on this exact day for the past three years. How was the concert?"_

"Fabulous, as usual."

_"And how's Gwen?"_

"Fabulous, as usual."

"_So what's the problem?"_ Chris sighed into the phone and grabbed a bottle of beer from the limo's mini-bar across from him.

"Swear you won't tell?"

"_Swear on my love for ya, hun. Now spill."_

"I think Trent's cheating on Gwen-"

"Again?!_"_ Blaineley growled on the other line. It was no secret that Trent had slept with other women while he was seeing Gwen. It was around their first anniversary, the day after to be exact, when Gwen walked in on Trent plowing Chris' secretary. The Goth girl wouldn't leave her room for two weeks, Chris fired his secretary and anyone who was associated with her, and Heather broke Trent's nose and her hand from the force of the punch. The next day she punched him in the gut with her good hand. Why Gwen went back to the asshole, Chris didn't know, but she had said something about "loving him" and "wanting to spend the rest of her life with him." It was ridiculous. Chris knew love; he'd been married to the same woman for twenty-four years and had two children with her. He loved her when she was fat from the pregnancies, he loved her when she was mentally unstable and he loved her even when she stopped making him money. What Gwen and Trent had was nothing close to love. On Gwen's part it was mild infatuation, and on Trent's part…just plain lust. Unfortunately, Gwen didn't see it like that and wanted to be with Trent for the rest of her life.

_"It's tragic, really."_ Blaineley said, voicing his thoughts exactly. _"It's a classic Hollywood story. An innocent, insecure twenty-five year old female singer dates a thirty-two year old gold-digging, dirt bag who hasn't made a hit single in over five years. He's obviously just with her for her money."_

"And the sex." Chris added. His wife groaned in disgust.

_"Ew, Chris! I didn't need ta know that much 'bout them!" _He chuckled at her displeasure, took a swig of beer and leaned back into his seat. There was a minute of comfortable silence, and Chris happily broke it.

"I miss you, ya know." He admitted. Because the company demanded Gwen go on tour before her new album came out, he hadn't seen Blaineley in almost five months. It was terrible watching Trent make out with Gwen and he couldn't even hold his wife's hand. Sleeping in a huge bed wasn't a big deal if you had no one to share it with.

"_I miss ya, too, but you'll be home soon_." There was another static-like sound, this one louder than the other. Chris then heard two other female voices in the background.

"_Let me talk to him!"_

"_Me too! Me too!"_

"_Alright gimmie one damn second, ya vultures! Chris?"_

"Yeah?"

"_There's some lovely yet crazy little ladies that whanna talk to ya. Here take the phone and leave me be!"  
"Hi, Daddy!"_ Chris smiled when he heard his eldest daughter squeal into the phone.

"Hi Bridgette, how are you doing, baby?" He could just picture his children sitting side by side, fighting over the phone to talk to him like the used to.

_"I'm pretty good. How about you? How's everything in the music business?"_

"Its…wonderful, Bridge. How's college?"

"_It's great, Daddy! Know what's even better?"_ She didn't give Chris time to respond. _"Geoff is going to the same college I am! Isn't that wonderful?"_

"Yes…how wonderful." Chris said flatly. He didn't like Bridgette's boyfriend Geoff that much. He was a party boy, and he had a new girlfriend every month. Also he was dating Chris' daughter, and any boy that did that was in danger of losing his nutsack.

'_If he hurts my daughter,'_ Chris found himself thinking the first time he met Geoff. _'I'm going to make him wish he was gay.'_

"Why don't you put your sister on the phone, sweetness? I'll see you when I get home, kay?" He told his oldest child, sipping his beverage. He'd be home in about fifteen minutes, but he knew his younger child couldn't wait that long to…well, do _anything_.

"_Alright, I'll see you then."_ Bridgette told him. _"Hey, Lindsay! Dad wants to talk to you!" _He heard her call. He recognized Lindsay's loud squeal and Blaineley's even louder cursing, all with Bridgette's scolding in the background. Ah, music to his ears…

"_OMG! HI DADDY! WHEN ARE YOU COMING HOME? I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN LIKE, FOREVA! WHERE ARE YOU?!"_ Chris moved the phone away from his ear as his child screamed into the phone. He sighed and waited until Lindsay finished her little panic attack.

"Ya done kiddo?" He asked. He heard her giggle, which once again made him smile. Sure, his girls weren't little and certainly not cute and cuddly anymore, but that didn't mean he loved them any less.

"Now to answer your questions in order; Hi baby, I'll be home in about ten minutes, it's only been five months and I'm in my limousine right now." His daughter paused and suddenly she was whispering.

"_Is your driver that cute brunette? Ya know the one you met at the burger place? What was it called? Burgerpalooza?"_ Chris literately face palmed at this. Burgerpalooza? What in the hell was that?!

"You mean Burger World? Yes, and his name is Tyler. How are you doing, anyways, Lins? How's modeling?"

"_Oh, his name is Tyler! What a cute name! You think he'd be interested in me, Daddy? Oh wait, Mommy said I wasn't supposed to ask you that. Crap, she said I wasn't supposed to tell you that either!" _Lindsay rambled, until she was cut-off by Blaineley's agitated voice.

"_Chris baby, we gotta go okay? We'll see you when you get home."_ She growled. Chris smiled and laughed. Only Blaineley could get so riled up about something so little. The woman had a temper on her. When she got mad, it was _not_ pretty.

"Alright babe. See ya then. I love you."

"_Love ya too, doll face. Buh-bye now."_ And with that, she hung up. Chris sighed and put his phone back. While his phone call to his family took his mind off of things, there was still a shit load of problems he had to deal with; Trent's "possible" unfaithfulness, his own decision to be dishonest or not, Gwen's happiness, Heater's evilness, and the fact that his driver had almost crashed into a light pole. For the past three years on Gwen's birthday, there was always a bunch of random shit that went wrong.

'_Maybe she was right when she said her family was cursed. I mean, stuff like this doesn't just _happen_ every year on the same goddamned day. I cannot wait until I retire from this job…'_ Chris sighed and massaged his temples. There were _other_ problems he was having. Gwen's newest single, _"Love Me Forever"_, hadn't done as well as he hoped it was. It was number sixty-five on the charts, and was only played on the radio twice since it came out. While everyone loved Gwen's live performance today, they hadn't loved it enough to buy the CD. Why should they when they have iPods and whatnot? And even if they liked it enough to buy it, album sales had went down over 6% since last year.

"If she doesn't make a hit single soon," Chris said to no one in particular, looking at his large mansion through the limo's semi-tinted, bulletproof window. "She's not going to make it to the big leagues."

* * *

_Flashback_

_August 15__th__, 1989_

_Brooklyn, New York City_

"Shoot For the Stars"_ Concert, 4:09 P.M_

"_Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it gives me great honor to introduce one of the greatest singers in pop history!"_

_She was having trouble breathing, her throat was dry and she felt like she was going to throw up any minute now. She didn't know why. She'd done this a hundred times before._

"_You loved her first album, _"See You When I Wake Up",_ you adored her second, _"It's Gettin' Too Damn Hot", _now put your hands together as she serenades you with songs from the third album, _"Love Ain't A Thang!"_"_

"_Just relax, you'll do great." He manager reassured her. She knew that already, she always did great, because she _was_ great._

"_I present to you,"_

_No, she wasn't great. She was the best._

"_Preforming for the first time in her hometown,"_

"_Knock 'em dead out there, BB," He said, squeezing her shoulder. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was it. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was as important as this was. Not preforming for the Queen of England, not preforming for The Dalai Lama, not even preforming for Johnny Depp._

_This. Was. It. Make it or break it. This was Brooklyn, where she was raised, where she was discovered, where she'd sink or swim. If they didn't like her then this was over. She was throwing in the towel, putting away her microphone and going back to her job at the Wall Mart. It didn't matter if she was number one on the charts or if every single song she wrote made millions. If the people she grew up with disliked her, then she was done._

"_**Blaineley!**__" As her named echoed throughout the stadium, millions of people broke out in applause, screaming and crying as the blonde bombshell burst out onto the stage, arms raised as she took in everything. The lights, the cameras, the action! This was what she lived for! Fans screaming her name, men falling at her feet, women wishing they could be her. This was it._

_This was her dream. And she was living it._

"_Are you ready to have your minds blown?!" She screamed into the microphone, savoring the roar of the audience. She smiled, showing off her shiny white teeth and cherry red lips. She adjusted her signature red jacket and grabbed the mic off its stand. She took another deep breath, this one shakier then the one before. She wasn't nervous; she was ready for this, had been ready for the past month and a half, so why was she feeling so…odd?_

_It didn't matter anymore; she was going to sing her ass off, just like she always did. Whatever happened after wouldn't dampen her spirits. She'd be fine, she was _always_ fine._

_Whatever happened wouldn't ruin her day. It'd just bounce right off._

_Flashback_

_August 22cnd, 1989_

_San Francisco, California_

_Mclean Household, 11:47 P.M_

_She was wrong, oh God, she was wrong! It didn't bounce right off, it stuck to her like glue. Oh God, she was so very wrong!_

_Two days after the big concert in Brooklyn, she still felt ill. She was vomiting, she was tired and hot all the time. Her manager said she had the flu, but she knew that couldn't have been it. She'd gotten a shot the week before. So she went to see her doctor, and he told her some really dumb shit. Said she was pregnant, ha! Pregnant her ass. She wasn't stupid, she had used birth control and condoms and everything._

_Not that there was anything wrong with kids. It's just that she was only 23, she wasn't ready to have kids. She wanted to live her life, watch her career thrive and visit every foreign country on the planet before she settled down. And when she did settle down, she wanted to wait a year or two before having kids._

_Anyways, back to the doctor visit, when he told her she was expecting a child, she laughed in his face and told him he was crazy. She had taken all of the precautions, she was far from pregnant. He insisted that she was, but she didn't believe him. She had good reason too, though. She'd read several articles about hoax pregnancies, how doctors usually had some part in it. They all wanted two things, fame and fortune, and she'd be damned if she gave it to them. So she left and went back home to get some rest. She had to go to the recording studio the next day._

_Almost a week later and she had completely forgotten about the whole pregnant-thing. Until she realized her period was late. At that moment she went in instant freaked out mode. She cried, a lot. She threw things, screamed. It took about an hour to get her to calm down and another to get her to coax her out of the broom closet and tell everyone what the fuck had her acting so chaotic._

"_I'm pregnant." She spilled, causing everyone to gasp._

"_Does…does _he_ know, yet?" Her fitness coach, Eva asked. She sighed and shook her head._

"_No. I've just found out myself. It's funny really," She stated, smirking a bit. "I went to the doctor a week ago and he told me I was pregnant, but I didn't believe him. Shows how smart I am."_

"_How are you going to break the news to him?" She looked at Eva and shrugged._

"_Same way I do everything. Short, sweet and to the point."_

_Her manager had been in the room for only two minutes and she was already dying to get this over with._

_"So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" He asked. "You sounded very urgent over the phone, is anything-"_

"_Chris, I'm pregnant."_

_"-Wrong? Jeez, Blain. Are you sure it's mine?" She narrowed her eyes at him._

"_What are you implying? I've been married to you for five years_**(1)**_, of course it's yours!" He put his hands up in front of him in defense._

"_Okay, okay! I'm sorry. Just trying to make this less awkward…" He sighed and looked at her with a smile. "What are we gonna name the kid?"_

"_If she's a girl, we're naming her Bridgette."_

_"And if he's a boy, we're naming him Chris Junior."_

"_Absolutely fucking not."_

_"I'd have a feeling you'd say that…" He chuckled. "Just imagine it, us as parents. Doesn't that just _terrify_ you, Blaineley?"_

"Blaineley, sweetheart? Blain, are you okay?" The blonde jumped when she felt a hand squeeze her shoulder. She looked up and there stood her husband and two children, staring at her in concern.

"Babe, are you okay?" Chris asked, worry written all over his face. "The kids said you've been like that for a while." Blaineley blinked.

"Have I?" She asked, wondering how long a while was.

"Yeah Mom, you were really out of it." Bridgette told her. The twenty-three year old was the splitting image of her, minus her green eyes. Neither Chris nor Blaineley had any idea where she got them from. But they didn't ponder it, because those eyes looked so good on their daughter.

"What were you thinking about, Mommy?" Lindsay asked with a mischievous look on her face. "Were you thinking about, Daddy?"

'_This kid is just _asking_ to be scarred for the rest of her life, isn't she?'_ The former pop star thought, giving the twenty-two year old a similar look.

"Mmmhh, yeah, I was thinking 'bout Daddy alright. Just wondering if he tasted the same as he did five months ago." She said, lustfully looking at Chris, who was also smirking. "And I _don't_ mean his lips."

"Eww, Mom!" The two middle-aged parents laughed hard when their daughters went fleeing from the room, covering their ears in horror. Chris sighed and turned to his wife. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"I see you're in a good mood today." He said. The blonde shrugged and stood up, throwing her arms around her husband's neck.  
"Of course I am! I got my Chrissie back!" She gushed, kissing his lips tenderly. The simple kiss turned into a make out session, and the make out session turned into a groping session. Blaineley felt more like a teenager being reunited with her high-school sweetheart, instead of a forty-something year old greeting her husband. It was wonderful to see him again, and she had so much to talk to him about. She wanted to tell him that her new line of clothing was very popular in Paris, (she was also going to beg him to take her there over the weekend) how Bridgette got second place in her surfing contest and was passing all of her college courses, and that Lindsay was paying less attention to boys and more to her modeling career. She wanted to know the latest celebrity gossip and if Heather was _finally_ seeing someone, and she wanted to know when she could cut off Trent's head. But all of this could wait until she gave Chris a proper hello. And that involved spit-swapping, ass-grabbing and private-part-grinding. But before they could get to the good stuff, they were interrupted by another scream of displeasure.

"Gross, now their _making out!_" Lindsay cried, covering her eyes. Bridgette stood next to her, crossing her arms and shaking her head. Blaineley and Chris reluctantly pulled away from each other and glared at their children.

"Can't we have one moment of privacy?" Chris asked angrily.

"You _never_ let me do that with Geoff, Dad. Why should I let _you_ do it with mom?" The oldest Mclean girl stated.

"Honestly, you two are _worse_ than the paparazzi." Blaineley groaned, stepping out of Chris' warm embrace.

"That's what we're on this earth for!" Lindsay joked, smiling brightly at her folks. "To ruin all of your romantic moments, eat up all your food, spend all your money on worthless stuff and date you limousine drivers!"

Chris groaned at the last statement and Blaineley simply laughed.

'_Oh the joys of being a parent.'_ They thought together.

* * *

**And **_**that**_** is the third chapter. You now know about Chris' family life. And yes, I made Bridgette and Lindsay his kids. Why? Because as I said, I'm not putting OC's in here, plus, I like putting character's from shows in unusual positions. For example: Gwen and Heather: Enemies in the show, best friends in this story. Chris and Blaineley: Dislike each other in the show, are married in this story. Bridgette and Lindsay: Friends in the show, sisters in this story. Ya catch my drift? Get used to weird shit like this, because I'm unleashing my imagination. P.S Gwen and Trent will be in the next chapter, and there will be plenty of smuttiness, maybe even a lemon if requested.**

**In this story, Chris is forty-four in the present, and Blaineley is two years younger than him, meaning she's forty-two. In 1989 Blaineley is twenty-three and Chris is twenty-five. (Fun-fact: Chris was actually supposed to be twenty-five in Total Drama.) The two have been married for five years. If you do the math like I did, you'd realize that Blaineley got married to Chris at eighteen. Idn't dat intrestin'?**

**Also, I **_**adore**_** Blaineley's name, so you'll see it a lot when she makes an appearance. Okay? Okay. It is now 1: 40, 4****th**** of July morning, so I'm gonna go to bed now.**


	4. The Bad Boys From Brooklyn Part 1

**Let's pretend I wasn't gone for six months. I'm really sorry about the wait. I've lost my love for writing, which is very concerning I've been doing this for years and all of a sudden I have no inspiration. I've joined a Creative Writing class in school, so hopefully it returns.**

**I pulled this chapter out my ass and I'm sure it shows. I actually had the first few paragraphs written down on a piece of paper. It was the beginning to the first version (I half-wrote about four versions) of chapter four that I wrote six months ago. I hope it lives up to it's expectations. I was actually going to add more, but I couldn't really think of anything and it's already 19 pages long, so yeah...  
Anyways, this Chapter's all about Trent and it explains his whole boyband situation and why he's such an asshole. Also, I wanted you all to know that Trent's assholeness is a _huge_ factor in this story, and is the kick-start to the plot. I'm not just making him a douche for the fun of it. (Though I do have fun reading some of your comments about the things Trent does).**

**Enjoy!**

******Disclaimer: I do not own Gwen or any other Total Drama characters.**

******WARNING: There are going to be some serious adult ********themes in this story!******** DRUG USE, STRONG LANGUAGE, and SEXUAL SITUATIONS are just a few of them, but if you have a problem with any of these things, I strongly suggest you click the back button. This story's Rated M for a reason, people!**

* * *

Trent sat at the kitchen table, furiously scribbling on a piece of paper. He flipped the page in the book he was copying from. A little voice in his head was telling him this was wrong, but he had stopped listening to that voice a long time ago.

He was sure Gwen wouldn't mind him borrowing a song or two from her.

It wasn't like she _needed_ another hit song. Sure, she might not have had a hit in a while, but it had been _much_ longer since Trent had had one. His bands' well of success had been emptied long ago, and he was determined to refill it. Even if that meant stealing from his girlfriend. He just prayed that she, or even worse than that, that _Heather_ didn't catch him doing this. That'd be no good, no fucking good at all.

Trent was kind of desperate right now. He needed something, _anything_, that'd make him money. It wasn't because he wanted to be rich or famous again (though it would be nice to relive those days). It was simply because cocaine was _really fucking expensive_ in Hollywood. And he hadn't had a hit in..._two fucking weeks _and he was about to lose his fucking mind and he couldn't focus and_ fuck shit damn he needed drugs RIGHT FUCKING NOW!_

The pencil Trent was writing with snapped in half. He cursed and flung the halves across the room. His leg bounced underneath the table furiously. He had (foolishly) assumed that he wouldn't have to go through the symptoms of withdraw and he had good reason to. He'd went a full ten days without drugs and he hadn't shown a single sign of desperation. Trent thought he'd be okay for a maybe a month, it had happened once before.

But when that eleventh day came, he fucking _lost it._ He woke up in the middle of the night and tore the whole apartment apart looking for the smallest portion of blow. He was glad that Gwen had been on tour at the time, because she would've freaked the hell out if she saw him like that.

He'd called all of his connections-past and present ones-twice. None of them would give him anything for free and he couldn't even afford a fucking nickel bag.

And now it was the fourteenth day, a whole two weeks, and he was going to lose it if he didn't get some kind of drug in his body. (He'd considered snorting pain killers, but he didn't know what was in that shit.) So he'd called in a favor from a friend. But he'd have to payback that friend eventually, and it was either come out with a song or beg Gwen for money she didn't have, and probably wouldn't give him without knowing the reason for it, so he picked the former option.

And that was why he was copying songs out of his girlfriend's glittery songbook. This whole drug operation would've been so much easier if he was still making music. His band, "The Bad Boys From Brooklyn" (BBFB), had been struggling for quiet a while.

BBFB had taken the world by storm when they first came out in 1997. They had become rich and famous practically over night. Girls between the ages of five and all the way up to fifty had loved the flashy videos, the synchronized dancing and the harmonic voices that the "Bad Boys" had provided.

BBFB consisted of five different members. There was Harold Kumar, a tall and lanky redhead who was skilled in both keyboard and rap; the fans had dubbed him the "Cute Nerd". There was DJ Marshall, a wide shouldered softy, who had a soothing voice that was more suited for R&B than pop; he was the "Lovable Big Guy". Owen Sacks, who was drop-dead gorgeous with his blonde hair and chiseled features, was labeled "The Hunk". (Which was ironic, considering he was overweight now.) Of course there was Trent, the lead singer of the bad and "The Baddest Boy Of Them All". He'd hypnotized the ladies with his captivating green eyes, his ruggud good looks and of course, his deep singing voice. And while millions of girls dreamed of being with him, he was not their favorite.

Their favorite was the fourth member of BBFB, Cody Foster, a small and extremely scrawny brunette who was as sociable as a rock. He was dubbed "The Cute One", and that pretty much summed it all up. With his blue eyes, gap-toothed smile and luscious hair, Cody was the definition of cute. The fact that his voice was soft and amazing added to his likability.

Anyways, "The Bad Boys From Brooklyn" took over the music world. Their music was played nonstop; their videos played 24\7 on every music channel you could think of; their concerts sold out; they got different offers from agents and record companies alike. You could not walk into the mall without hearing at least one BBFB song play over the speaker. Trent, Harold, DJ, Owen and Cody were living in the lap of luxury. Money, cars, fame and women; all of this from singing songs and being young.

But being young and in Hollywood was never a good thing. Too many opportunities to do bad things that were appealing to a group of nineteen year olds, such as themselves. A year after BBFB's big break, a whole lot of bad stuff started happening. Harold had a couple of scuffles with the law, Owen had gotten into one too many underage bar fights, and Trent had been caught on camera with expensive drugs and expensive women. The only ones with an untarnished reputation was DJ and Cody, but DJ's beloved mother hadn't wanted him in the band with three "bad influences", so he left. When word of DJ splitting got out, BBFB's fan-base shrank a bit. Not as much as it would have if Trent or Cody had left, but by a considerable amount.

So with only four members of the band left and a whole year of progress down the drain, Trent decided it was time to clean up their act. Owen was banned to go to bars and Harold had to have an adult with him at all times to prevent him from doing anything illegal. Trent cut off all contact with all of his shady "friends" and stopped doing drugs. It looked like things were finally turning around for BBFB.

But time stops for no man, and that's exactly what the five signers became: men. The adorable looks that had gotten them to the height of fame had started to fade, and so had their image as positive role models. Their voices had gone down the drain and so had any inspiration to preform, and before they knew it, the band that had once been on top of the world was now in the trash. Their music videos rarely played on TV anymore, radio stations refused to play their music, and young girls everywhere had long ago thrown away anything relating to The Bad Boys From Brooklyn.

It seemed like the four remaining Boys were out of work, out of the limelight and completely out of luck.

Or so they thought...

Cody, Trent's best friend since kindergarten, had found love in the form of the multi-talented, openly gay, Noah Prince. Noah was an author, a chess master and more importantly, a director. A big director. Lunch with Steven Spielberg big. Noah had a big movie coming out and it was well-known throughout Hollywood that Cody had a thing for acting. It was also know that Noah had a thing for white boys, especially the cute ones, and one thing led to another and BOOM! Not only was Cody the lead-man in one of the highest-grossing movies of the summer, but he was also Noah's first (public) boyfriend.

Both of these events brought BBFB back into the spotlight, but only for a little bit. The band managed to go on tour and scrape in a decent amount of money, but after that, they were back to square one.

Cody did another movie. This one wasn't directed by Noah, but he still got a great part. By now Cody had become his own person instead of some kid in a band and the movie success did wonders for his career but not the other guys. But Cody had promised Harold, Trent, and Owen he'd get them part in his next movie, and Cody wasn't one to break a promise. When the gap-toothed boy came bouncing in the studio, he had four scripts in his hand. One for him, and one for everyone else.

According to the brunette he had "talked to" Noah (and by talked to, he meant begged) into letting the three other members into his next movie. The director had no intentions of letting a bunch of talentless hacks into his movie, but he couldn't say no to his boyfriend, so Noah got them small parts in his movie, which was said to be the biggest film in the 21st century.

The movie bombed, however, and pretty much everyone's career was over. Everyone except for Cody and Noah's; Cody's because he was extremely well-liked, and Noah's because everyone was blaming the movie's demise on the "three washed up boyband singers that had been added on at the last minute", according to one reviewer.

So now, after several years filled with several sorry attempts to become famous, Trent was mooching off of his girlfriend. Which wasn't very effective considering Gwen wasn't doing much better than he was. Trent often wondered if it was too late to turn gay and find himself a rich boyfriend like Cody did. To be fair, Cody hadn't exactly set out to find some rich guy to date. He'd simply been purchasing a coffee and bumped into Noah, and things had progressed from there.

Still, Trent couldn't help being the tiniest bit jealous. He had spent years singing in the shower and at church as a kid. He'd had dreams of being a famous singer. The only reason Cody even knew about his talent for singing and acting was because Trent had persuaded him to take drama and chorus with him in high school. The only reason Cody was famous in the first place was because Trent refused to go off to Hollywood and leave his best friend alone in their hometown. It was because of Trent that Cody was where he was today with Noah. (Which wasn't an exaggeration. It had been Trent's coffee Cody was buying when he met his boyfriend. Go figure.)

There was a knock at the door, and Trent nearly shrieked with joy. He flew to the front door and flung it open. Standing in front of him in faded blue jeans and a dirty t-shirt, was none other than Harold. The previous "Cute Nerd" now looked like he lived in his parents basement. Trent smirked.

_'At least I'm not the only one who's financially fucked.'_ He thought smugly.

"Hey there Harold," He greeted, leaning against the doorframe. "How's life?"

"Fucking sucks!" Harold groaned.

"I take it things aren't going too well."

"You bet you're ass their not! First my mom kicks me out the basement," Holy shit, Trent was just messing around when he had said that! "Then my check bounces while I'm getting my electric piano fixed, and _then_, Lashawna starts screaming at me to "get off my scrawny ass and start pulling my own weight" Like, what the hell woman? You know damn well I'm not not working on purpose!"

Ah yes, Lashawna. Harold's girlfriend since the beginning of motherfucking time. The two of them had been together when Trent had first met Harold back in '97. Cody had introduced him to the keyboardist and said he'd be a good addition to the band. Trent remembered Harold introducing Lashawna as his "crazy hot, chocolate mama". The girl had rolled her eyes at this, but she was smiling as she did it. Other than Chris and Blaineley, they were the only people Trent had ever known that had been together longer than ten years.

Trent also remembered Lashawna being pregnant at the time. Believe it or not, the pregnancy had been planned, and while the two were only nineteen at the time, they were more suited to take care of a baby than Trent's own parents had been, they were even planning on getting married after the child was born. Unfortunately, the child (a little boy) didn't make it, something that completely destroyed the couple. But four years later they remedied the situation by having three, awesome kids; Allison, who was eleven, Darrell, who was seven, and Charles, who was five. Trent adored those fucking kids. Even if they cried and yelled and sometimes smelt like pee.

Harold and Lashawna always had a solid relationship, but sometime after BBFB's drop from fame, Lashawna started getting agitated with Harold. It wasn't because she wanted the money, Lashawna wasn't that type of person, (And even if she was, she made enough of her own money as a celebrity hair stylist\make-up artist.) it was simply because as a child, Lashawna's father passed away and her mother got remarried to a man who sat around and did nothing to help pay the bills or raise Lashawna. So it goes without saying that she did _not_ want to live like her mother did. Harold, who was trying his best to support both himself and his family, was getting extremely frustrated with Lashawna's constant yelling at him, and the nerd said some pretty stupid things that got him kicked out. At one point, Trent thought the nerd had only crashed on his couch when this happened, but apparently Harold would go to his mother's house.

It was at that moment that Trent realized that things could be _much_ worse for him.

"I'm sorry to hear that, buddy. But you didn't forget the reason you came here, did ya?" Harold narrowed his eyes and dug in his back pocket. He pulled out a wad of money and slapped it in Trent's outstretched hand.

"I don't even _want_ to know what you need that amount of money for. Just remember to pay me back. That's not even _my_ money." Trent blinked.

"Who's is it?" The raven haired man knew damn well it wasn't LaShawna's. She would've came to his door personally and demanded to know what the hell he needed with it.

"Cody's." Fuck shit damn. That's exactly what his ego needed. He was borrowing borrowed money. From his best friend. He didn't even have the pleasure of knowing Cody borrowed the money from Noah, because he _didn't._ Cody was such a popular fucking actor now, he got his own damn payroll.

It was at that moment that Trent realized that things could be _much_ better for him.

"Well...all fucking righty then. I'll just get this back to ya so you can get it back to Cody..." Trent huffed. He looked at Harold. The redhead's once bright green eyes were now dim from exhaustion behind his thick glasses. There were frown lines etched into his face, and he looked like he needed a fucking hug. Trent couldn't help but feel bad for him. Cody might've been his best friend, but he and Harold just sort of...clicked. Whenever Trent needed to vent, Harold would be there. Whenever Harold needed someone to beat the shit of some guys who had flirted with his girl, Trent would be there. It was something every best-friendship should have, something he and Cody's was severely lacking.

"Hey man, ya whanna come in? Maybe have a drink? You look like absolute shit." Trent asked and Harold nodded. The nerd smirked at him as he came in the door.

"I may look like shit, but at least I'm not fucking whipped."

"Fuck you, dude. Sleeping on couches and staying with your mom and shit. If that ain't whipped, I don't know what is." Trent retorted, going into the kitchen and pulling out the bottle of Jack hidden underneath the sink. He grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet and set them down on the table. He motioned for Harold to sit down at the table with him.

"You should know what whipped is. You're the fucking definition of it." Harold chuckled. "Doing whatever the fuck Gwen asks you too, never fucking questioning it. It's like your her bitch or something."

Trent scowled as he poured their drinks. He wasn't whipped. Fuck that. Sure, occasionally Gwen called the shots, but Trent wore the pants in the relationship and they both knew it. All he had to do was threaten to leave and she'd be on her knees willing to do anything to keep him. He'd done it before and he'd do it again if he had to. He explained this to his friend.

"Shit, you're for real?" Harold looked amazed. "I mean...wow dude. If I ever tried that with Lashawna, she'd pack my bags and call a cab for me."

"And if Owen ever tried that with _his_ girlfriend," The two friends shared a laugh at that one. Owen was currently dating pop sensation, Izzy, a redhead with some serious psychological problems. She'd bitten a photographer when he'd gotten too close to her one time in public. Another time she flashed the paparazzi from her hotel room window. And let's not forget when she got drunk at the Grammy's.

"If Owen ever tried that with Izzy, she'd probably stalk him and eat his firstborn child." Harold said calmly, taking a sip of his drink. Trent shivered. He could see the crazy wench doing something like that. Unlike Lashawna, who Trent both respected and liked (and feared) greatly, he did not like Izzy that much. None of the other band members liked her that much either, and Gwen absolutely despised her. Heather hated her too, but Heather hated pretty much everybody except for Gwen, Blaineley, and that pretty-boy that worked with Justin, Alejandro.

"So speaking of girlfriends, how's Gwen doing?" Harold asked. Trent shrugged.

"Haven't seen her in like...five hours. She's out shopping with Heather. As if we're not poor enough, she has to go and make it worse by fucking shopping. Ugh, women."

"Dude, first off, you're not poor. Second, what's up with you and her anyway? Are you guys like...in love? What the hell are you doing with her, Trent? Because there's a lot of talk that your, ya know, using her. Cheating on her, _again._" Trent's eyes widened.

"Where the fuck did you hear that from?!" He hissed. If Mclean had fucking squealed...

"People have been saying it before you even cheated on her the first time. You don't have the best track record Trent." It was true, Trent _didn't_ have the best record. He'd been married once (for two months, luckily the girl had signed a pre-nup) and had dated two other girls before Gwen. All three relationships had been destroyed because of cheating (the girl he married cheated on him, the other two he had cheated on) so of course the media speculated he was cheating on Gwen.

Which he was. But he was going to stop. He remembered how bad it had hurt Gwen when he'd cheated with Chris' secretary. He remembered how bad _he_ had hurt after Heather had broken his nose and punched him in the stomach. He didn't want that to happen again.

Trent didn't like being a bad guy. He didn't like doing drugs and cheating on women and being an all around asshole. That was not what he wanted to do with his life. But that _was_ how he was raised. His father was a pretentious asshole who thought he was better than everyone and his mother was a gold-digging slut, and he had gotten all of their traits, both good and bad. And since there was barley a good bone in either of his parents' body, Trent was utterly fucked. He had tried to live life the good way, but in reality, the good way sucked. It was like in the movie. Sure, the good guys always won, but the bad guys always had a grand fucking time before they got beat. So Trent did drugs; he snorted cocaine and took ecstasy He used people and then when he was finished with them, he discarded them. He hurt people to get his way. But the whole cheating thing hadn't really started until after his marriage ended. He had loved that woman, who shall not be named, more than life itself. He would've given up everything just to be with her, and she had cheated on him. And with their fucking gardener too. How you go from a sexy singer to a fucking gardener Trent did not know. What he did know was that event had fucked him up. Now he felt he had to get back at that woman, and the only way to do that was to fuck with her gender entirely.

In no way, shape or form did Trent ever expect to become such an asshole. He did not sit up at night thinking of ways to out ass himself. Nor did he sit up at night thinking of ways to hurt Gwen. Things just fucking happened A pretty girl would recognize him and would want a quick fuck in the coat room, and his mind would tell him no, but his penis would tell him yes, and he had stopped listening to his mind a long time ago. And then he'd get caught and then an innocent girl would get hurt because he was a dick.

"Maybe you should break it off with her." Harold suggested, after a five minute silence. Trent blinked at him. All of his friends knew he wasn't being an asshole on purpose. Harold knew, Owen knew, Cody defiantly knew, and DJ (where ever that motherfucker went after the band broke up) knew it, too. They knew him before he'd had his heart ripped out and they knew how hard he tried to be a nice guy. But that didn't excuse him from his actions. And that didn't excuse him from being lectured by his friends who _all_ had _wonderful_ fucking relationships.

"Yeah. That'd be the best thing to do in this situation, wouldn't it?" Trent sighed and lifted his glass to his lips. He downed the whole thing in a couple of gulps and proceeded to pour himself another cup.

"And maybe go to rehab. I know what that money's for Trent. When I told Cody I was lending _you_ the money, he knew what is was for too." Harold put his hand on Trent's shoulder. "Look Trent, I know life's been hard on you. I know you really had faith in the band and were really praying we'd get another hit but...You've got to understand that none of it's your fault, and that torturing yourself with drugs and alcohol isn't the answer. You need to know that torturing Gwen the way you are, cheating on her and lying to her and using her for her money isn't okay...It's one thing to borrow money from your girlfriend when you're in need. It's another to steal money from her just for your own selfish needs. It kinda makes you a..." Harold trailed off, not sure how his friend would take his next comment. Trent's eyes were on him in a second, those green orbs burning with anger.

"Makes me a _what?_" The man growled.

"A gold-digger " Trent's eyes narrowed. Harold gulped when he saw his friend clench his fists. The glass that was in Trent's right hand was being squeezed so hard it looked like it might break.

"Get out." Harold blinked at the calm request. He didn't want to leave his friend like this. He knew Trent would down the entire bottle of Jack and then go out in a drunken haze to find more alcohol and blow and probably get himself killed in the process.

"Trent, come on man. You know we all love you-"  
"**GET THE FUCK OUT!**" Harold jumped from his seat and ran for the door, as Trent flung his glass at the wall, the shatter of glass echoing throughout the apartment.

_'How fucking dare that bastard call me a fucking gold-digger '_ The enraged man thought, bringing the bottle of Jack to his lips and tipping it back.

"Fucker wants to tell _me_ to get clean and tell _me_ to break it off with _my_ girlfriend. So what if I'm using the bitch? I'm the best she'll _ever_ get." Trent drunkenly rambled as he stumbled to the front door. He grabbed his car keys and his jacket. "Fuck him and the fucking horse he rode in on. Imma-Imma go buy me some blow. Yeah, that'll show him. Then I'm gonna...I'm gonna go find Gwen and I'm gonna have sex with her. Yeah. Let's see what you think about THAT, Harold fucking Kumar!"

Trent pulled open his car door and shoved the key into the ignition. He slammed down on the gas and sped off into the night.


End file.
